ExcerptLaramie, Wyoming 1886
Black pumped against the whore he’d bought for the night. The act represented nothing but self-pleasure and release. He’d put his emotions aside years ago. There was no place in his life for such things.
This woman was no more to him than any of the others he’d had over the past fifteen years, but he didn’t care. She was warm, she was somewhat pretty, and she allowed him to vent his anger and satisfy his longings.
“Deeper, Baby, deeper,” she crooned.
Unlike things he’d heard about whores only pretending, he rarely left a woman wanting in that department. “Are you certain?” he said, as he withdrew his cock from her cunt.
“Positive,” came the whispered reply.
He repositioned himself and turned her onto her belly, then instructed her to get on her knees.
“You ain’t gonna fuck me in the ass are you?” the girl said.
“Hardly. You said you wanted it deeper. Well, this is as deep as I can get.” He shoved his cock in from the backside of her cunt and buried it all the way to his balls.
The girl screamed in delight. To add to the enjoyment, he grabbed one of her tits and played with it while he pistoned against her.
“More, more,” she demanded.
Black was more than willing to accommodate her and slowed his actions to prolong the hard-on he wanted to satisfy. When at last they both came, he was careful not to collapse on top of her. Instead, he rolled off, and turned her over to face him. While he lay there, spent and exhausted, he played with her clit until she again moaned with pleasure. A long time ago, he’d learned women could go all night, while men had to recuperate before they could again take a woman.
It didn’t take long for her to come again and mix her velvety juice with that which he had deposited only minutes earlier. Convinced he had, indeed, satisfied her, he pulled himself into a sitting position and lit a cigarette. Beside him, the girl continued to kiss his chest while she played with his balls. He knew it wouldn’t take much of this type of attention to make him ready to take her again by the time he finished his smoke. He liked to get the most for his money, and this girl was more than ready to give it to him.
He crushed out his cigarette and started sucking one of her tits in preparation to shove his cock into her cunt when a knock at the door interrupted him.
Cursing a blue streak, Black disentangled himself, grabbed his gun, and went to the door. It was evident the young boy who stood there with an envelope in his hand was embarrassed.
“I … I have a telegram for you, Mr. Conley,” he stammered, looking alternately between Black’s gun and his cock that stood out as stiff as a poker.
“Well, give it to me,” Black ordered, before going to get his pants so he could give the boy some money. By the time he returned, the boy had focused his attention on the whore in Black’s bed.
“Cover yourself,” he growled, as he pulled a coin from the pocket of his pants.
Once the boy left, Black slammed the door.
“Come back to bed, Sweetie,” the girl crooned. “Whatever is in that wire can wait until we finish our business.”
“Like hell it can,” Black retorted, ripping open the envelope.
What the hell was the big rush in getting this to him? He silently scanned the contents of the wire. Why wreck a perfectly good fuck just to give him his next assignment?
The only answer he could think of was that the telegraph office hadn’t gotten it to him when it first arrived. He’d have a talk with the telegraph operator when he went across the street to send the return wire.
Rather than going back to the whore, Black threw some money on the bed before he got dressed. Although the girl pretended to pout, he knew she was counting his money while anticipating getting another man to pay her tonight. If she was smarter than she looked, she would give the bartender only his usual pay while keeping the rest for herself.
“I guess this means you’re done with me,” she said, as she pulled on the dress she’d discarded earlier.
The deeply cut neckline made him wish he didn’t have to leave her. Of course, he knew he couldn’t stay after reading the contents of the wire. Work always came before pleasure in his book. With this wire coming from Denver, he had no choice other than to read it and find out where he went next.
Once she left, he read the wire from his boss, Ed Heath, more thoroughly. His assignment would take him to Larson’s Gap in Montana and a ranch called the Double Bar B. According to Ed’s wire, the woman who ran it, Belle Barton, was in trouble. She’d been losing cattle and couldn’t get the sheriff to help her find the rustlers. It would be Black’s job to find those responsible and put them under arrest. Ed doubted the local sheriff would be any help, but he said it was worth a try.
After sending a return wire to Denver, Black packed his gear in his saddlebags, tied his bedroll to the back of his horse, and prepared to leave Laramie behind. A glance inside the saloon revealed the girl he’d bedded earlier was already attaching herself to a cowpoke with more money than brains. At least he was the first one to have her tonight. If she was like most of the women in these places, he doubted she cleaned herself up between customers. There was nothing worse than fucking a woman who was full of some other man’s cum.
As he rode Buck, his Appaloosa gelding, out of Laramie, he thought about his life. In the past, he’d done everything he could to make a living. He’d started as a gunslinger and somehow ended up as a lawman. Since he’d become a U.S. Marshal he’d found a job that was to his liking. The life of a gunslinger was iffy, and he really didn’t enjoy killing people, but it was what he did best. With the title of U.S. Marshal, he did the job that he’d done when he’d killed his first man.
His mind turned to the memory of Mike Slade. If ever a man needed to die, it was Slade. He’d killed Black’s mother by beating her to death with her own bullwhip, and for what? He’d done it to gain title to the Circle C, the ranch his father built for his family in East Texas.
Black had only been three when someone killed his father. It wasn’t until after Slade lay dead in the street that he found out the man had killed his father as well as his mother to get the ranch adjoining his. At the time, Black called it revenge, but now he knew he’d only saved the county the cost of a hanging.
He remembered how hard it had been for his mother. She’d ended up running the place with the help of several whores who were ranch hands by day and whores by night. With the proof he carried in his saddlebags, he regained title to the Circle C. From there he went to the bank telling them sell it to the first man with enough money to satisfy them. He knew Slade was well respected in town and getting anyone to work for him would be difficult. He didn’t want the ranch, but didn’t want Slade to have it. He’d been only fourteen at the time and the life of a gunslinger seemed more to his liking than herding a bunch of dumb cows. He trusted the banker and knew the man would keep the money safe for him.
Even though he hadn’t done any ranching in over fifteen years, a job on one of the ranches would give him the perfect cover to investigate the rustling. Ranching was hard work, but it wouldn’t hurt him to ride herd on a bunch of cattle in Montana for a while. At least he’d get to eat three square meals a day and be able to sleep somewhere other than outside. That was better than where most of his assignments took him. With winter coming, it sounded damn good.
He didn’t need to work, but the situation demanded he blend in with the locals, and what better way to do that than to work as a cowhand. Besides, spending the winter in a hotel room with nothing to do was as far from his liking as was sleeping outdoors. It would do little but draw attention to his presence. Working with the locals usually raised a whole lot less suspicion about why he was in this small town rather than where his gun could make him a hell of a lot more money.
When he arrived at Larson’s Gap, the town looked about as lively as a Sunday school picnic. Outside the saloon, two horses waited for their owners to return. At least he didn’t have to guess where the saloon was. He could get a drink without having to make any explanations about who he was.
Inside, he stepped up to the bar. “Whiskey.”
The bartender looked up. “Don’t serve Injuns. It’s best if you get your ass out of here.”
Black pulled his gun and pointed it at the man. “Look, you son-of-a-bitch, I’m no Injun.”
“You got black hair and your dark skinned. You’re an Injun all right.”
“My ma was Mexican, and my pa was white. That makes me pure Texican. Push me too far and you’ll find out why they say there ain’t nothin’ meaner than a Texican when you rile him. Trust me, mister, anyone who takes me for an Injun riles me no end.”
“Yes sir, Mr.…”
“The name’s Conley.”
The man began to shake as he poured the whiskey. “I shoulda known from the way you drew that gun of yours. Is it true you killed thirty men?”
“Probably. I don’t keep count, especially since every one of them lost their lives in a fair fight.”
“How can it be a fair fight when that gun of yours comes out of the holster like a rattler when he’s ready to strike?” the man at the far end of the bar said.
“When a man is drawn on he has to defend himself. That’s all I intend to say on the subject. I don’t lead that life anymore. I was hoping to find out if there are any ranches in the area hiring for the winter.”
The man laughed. “Just the Double Bar B, but no one wants to work up there.”
Black hid his pleasure at hearing the name of the ranch where he was supposed to look for work as part of his assignment. “Why not?”
“Because word is that the Double B in the name of that ranch stands for the way that bitch can bust a man’s balls.”
“Her name is Isabelle Barton. She took over the ranch after her old man died and left it to her. She spent most of her life in the East, and what she doesn’t know about ranching could fill a book. She calls herself Belle, but that hardly fits her. I just call her ball buster. I worked for her for about a week. As much as I wanted to get in her pants, one of her tongue-lashings was enough for me. I lit out the next day.
“I hear tell she’s got a bunch of women up there trying to run the ranch. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? What in the hell do women know about ranching? The only thing they’re good for is fucking, if you get my drift.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Black said and downed his whiskey. “Which way is it to the Double Bar B?”
“You ain’t serious. Why would you want to work for that bitch?”
“Why not? I’ve always liked a challenge. This sounds like one I want to tackle.”
“You’ll be sorry. I’ll be here waiting for you when you decide you’ve had enough of her high and mighty ways.”
“Thanks again. I hope you don’t hold your breath waiting for me.”
Black left the Purple Moon Saloon and mounted Buck. The Double Bar B was the ranch he sought and would be the perfect place for him to spend the winter. If Belle Barton was anything like his ma, it could be an interesting relationship.
As he rode, his thoughts turned to the way his mother ran the Circle C once his father died. Slade hired away most of the hands that worked for his pa. In their place, she brought in whores and allowed them to ply their trade at night, as long as they worked the ranch during the day. It had been a good relationship, and his mother made a good living, not only from the cattle she was able to sell to the trail herds but also from the money the women brought in at night. With the split being fifty-fifty, they all prospered. If it hadn’t been for Slade, Black would have grown up to run the ranch. Instead, he’d been driven off the land.
It took a year for him to return to get vengeance. So much had happened that day, he didn’t even like to think about it. Not only had he killed his first man, but he proved the Circle C had been taken from him unlawfully. It probably would have been for the best if he’d stayed on to run the place. Unfortunately, he’d tasted blood and wanted to use his guns more than his hands. After selling the ranch to the highest bidder, he left East Texas forever.
Now he’d come full circle. If he could persuade Belle to allow him to work on the Double Bar B, he’d once again be working with women who were ranch hands by day and whores by night.